Dancing
by evitamockingbird
Summary: A story of Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes, and dancing. It begins when Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes are about to sit down for a chat during the wee hours of the morning of January 1, 1921, but are interrupted by unexpected visitors. Follow-up to "One Little Word." AU after S3. No S4 spoilers.
1. 1921

**This story is a follow-up to_ One Little Word_, which followed Mrs. Hughes's thoughts on the day of the Servants' Ball (S2 Christmas Special). If you have not done so already, I suggest you read _OLW_ before you start this one, as there are several references to key events, especially in this chapter. I decided to make this a separate story, though, rather than just adding chapters on to_ OLW_, because this story will have a slightly different theme. I also like the way _OLW_ stands as a one-shot, with or without this continuation.**

There was no Servants' Ball to ring in 1921. The house was in mourning for Lady Sybil. Mrs. Hughes hadn't even brought up the subject, hadn't bothered asking Lady Grantham if she'd prefer to cancel it; she knew. At least a few of the servants could usually be counted on to grumble when mourning or war or anything else interfered with plans for the Ball, for it was their one chance at upstairs revelry. This year, however, neither Mr. Carson nor Mrs. Hughes had heard a syllable of discontent. Neither could remember any member of the Crawley family ever inspiring such affection and solidarity among the staff, but Lady Sybil had been special, a sweet spirit. The family and the servants still celebrated the new year separately in their quiet ways, but by one o'clock, they were all in bed, with just a few exceptions. The only two exceptions downstairs walked slowly down the dimly lit corridor together toward the butler's pantry.

"I was tired earlier, but I don't think I could sleep now," Mrs. Hughes said to her companion. "I just keep thinking about all that's happened since this time last year."

"Yes, it seems an age ago," Mr. Carson agreed. "1920 started out very promisingly, but we've had quite a few bumps in the road since then."

"Indeed. The war had us constantly at sixes and sevens, but this…"

He nodded. "I think we'd all be willing to go back to the days of being short staffed and dealing with food rationing and the lot if it meant we could have her back with us." He gestured to his pantry door. "Shall we?"

Mrs. Hughes nodded and entered ahead of him, sitting down to wait for him to gather the glasses - he never let her help - and get the decanter of wine. Before he could pour, however, they heard someone clattering down the stairs quite noisily. Voices and laughter, a man's and a woman's, could be heard. They hurried together out of the pantry and toward the staircase, ready to ring a peal over whomever it was. However, just as Mrs. Hughes opened her mouth to do so, she perceived Lady Mary and Matthew Crawley at the bottom of the stairs.

"Oh good, you're both still awake!" Lady Mary said.

"Milady!" Mr. Carson exclaimed. "Is something the matter?"

"Nothing at all, Carson," she replied. "But we'd like you to come upstairs with us."

"You too, Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Crawley said, smiling at the housekeeper and inclining his head toward the staircase he and his wife had just descended.

Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes exchanged a quick, questioning glance. Mrs. Hughes gave a tiny shrug and they both turned to follow Lady Mary and Mr. Crawley, who had already started back up. They were led to a smaller parlor, one that was not often used, and Mr. Crawley flung open the door, switched on the light, and indicated that they should all enter.

"Come, Carson," Lady Mary teased him, seeing his hesitation to allow Mr. Crawley to hold the door open while he and Mrs. Hughes entered. "I don't think his lordship will sack you for it, just this once."

Mrs. Hughes laughed inwardly at Mr. Carson's face as he followed her order. He was disconcerted, to say the least.

"Might I ask what is going on?" Mr. Carson said politely.

"It was Mr. Crawley's idea," Lady Mary said. "A surprise for Mrs. Hughes."

"For me!" It was the housekeeper's turn to look perplexed. "I don't understand."

Mr. Crawley had crossed the room by now and was standing at a table on which the gramophone had been placed. "I don't know if you remember, Mrs. Hughes," he said. "But last year I promised you a dance at this year's Servants' Ball."

She smiled. "Of course I remember, Mr. Crawley. But I wouldn't expect you to keep your promise while the house is in mourning. I'd be just as glad of a dance at next year's ball."

"Don't argue, Mrs. Hughes," Lady Mary said, smiling. "He's quite determined. You are getting your dance."

"She's right," Mr. Crawley agreed, grinning, as he placed the needle on the record. He crossed back to her and held out his hand. "Mrs. Hughes, may I have the pleasure of the next dance?"

Mrs. Hughes laughed a little and took his hand as the music started. "You may, Mr. Crawley." As they began to dance, Mr. Carson looked on, still a little astonished by the situation, and thinking how lovely Mrs. Hughes looked when she laughed. Laughing was not something he saw her do very often, but it suited her.

"Carson, I believe it's customary for the gentleman to ask the lady to dance," Lady Mary prompted, from where she stood at his side.

"I beg your pardon," Mr. Carson said, coming out of his reverie. "Lady Mary, may I have the honor?" He held out his hand to her and soon they were circling the room alongside Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Crawley.

"His Lordship and Mr. Crawley both have mentioned what a fine dancer she is, Papa more than once," Lady Mary said, nodding toward the other couple.

"She is, milady," he answered, looking in that direction. He watched her dance and laugh with Mr. Crawley, and marveled at her grace.

Lady Mary watched him speculatively as his eyes followed Mrs. Hughes. She almost teased him for his inattention to his own partner, but she thought better of it. She didn't want to embarrass him. "I don't think I've ever seen you dance with Mrs. Hughes, Carson," she said, drawing his eyes back to her. "Have you?"

"Once, milady," he answered. "It was before you attended your first Servants' Ball. In my younger days I sometimes danced with a lady's maid or the head housemaid. But I have since come to believe the dignity of my current position requires that I dance only with the family, not the staff."

"I see," she said, nodding. "Well, I am rather enjoying Mr. Crawley's little impromptu ball. You're quite light on your feet as well, Carson."

Mr. Carson smiled for the first time since they'd entered the room. "As are you, milady. Did the family enjoy its celebration of the new year?"

"Yes, we did. It was rather subdued, but we were able to enjoy the festivities." She frowned. "Tom went to bed quite early, though, poor man. We all miss her terribly, but he seems more oppressed by it than anyone else, save perhaps her ladyship."

"I suppose any man would be, who'd lost his wife so suddenly," Mr. Carson mused.

"Yes."

They were both silent for a while, lost in thought, until Lady Mary's attention was caught by her husband's laughter. "He can be quite a flirt when he wants to," she said, smiling fondly at him. Mr. Crawley caught her looking at him and gave her a little wink before returning his attention to Mrs. Hughes.

"He loves you very much, milady," Mr. Carson said.

"Of course he does, Carson," she laughed. "I hardly thought he was considering abandoning me for Mrs. Hughes." Lady Mary paused, then watched Mr. Carson's face as she continued. "She may be an excellent dancer, but I think she's already spoken for."

He met her gaze very seriously, but did not answer. Lady Mary tried to read his thoughts, but his face revealed nothing. They danced in silence until the song ended and another began. Mr. Carson turned around when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"May I cut in?" Mr. Crawley asked.

"Of course, sir." He stepped aside and the gentleman whisked his wife into another waltz. He held her very close as they circled the floor, eyes on each other.

"I think we can leave these two to themselves, don't you, Mr. Carson?" Mrs. Hughes said softly, smiling at the pair.

"I do," he answered. "I daresay they won't notice we've gone."

They made their way downstairs and, by unspoken agreement, back into his pantry. Mr. Carson poured them each a glass of wine and they sat down together.

"Well, I never!" Mrs. Hughes said, merriment showing in her eyes.

"That was quite a pleasant surprise, wasn't it?"

"Yes," she agreed, then looked at him inquisitively. "You didn't have anything to do with that, did you?"

"No, I did not," he said. "Unless you count the conversation I had with Mrs. Crawley at the ball last year that led to his asking you to dance in the first place."

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "No, that was an entirely separate act of kindness, Mr. Carson."

"Oh, it was nothing," he demurred. "The work of a moment."

She shook her head. "It was not nothing. The work of a moment, perhaps, but I appreciate your thinking of me."

"Mrs. Hughes," he said, then paused. "Do you remember our conversation at the ball last year? About dancing?"

"I think so. I told you about how I had practiced dancing with Mr. Watson before my first Servants' Ball as housekeeper because I was nervous about dancing with his lordship. Is that the conversation you mean?" she asked, looking at him curiously. She remembered that conversation quite well. She had said rather more than she had meant to, but at the time she had not yet admitted to herself what she now knew to be true.

"Yes. I wondered why you had asked Mr. Watson for help and not me. You said you didn't know."

"Perhaps I thought that practicing with a mediocre partner might boost my confidence in my own skills. I knew you were a far better dancer than he, so I hope your feelings weren't hurt on that score," she teased, and was surprised when he continued in a serious tone.

"You weren't... intimidated by me, were you?" he asked, looking concerned. "I know I can be stern at times, perhaps even harsh, but I can assure you that if you needed a boost in confidence I would have helped you with that dance. We were always good friends."

"Mr. Carson, you're taking this far more to heart than you should!" she exclaimed. "Of course I wasn't intimidated by you! I know you have always been my friend."

He seemed to relax a little. "Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. I am glad."

"I recall a few minutes later asking you the same question, Mr. Carson. You were commiserating with me about my lack of dance partners."

"Yes," he said. "And you wanted to know why I didn't ask you myself. You know I only dance with the family now, Mrs. Hughes."

"That's not what you said when I asked," she reminded him. "You said you didn't know."

Mr. Carson was silent for a while. Then he put down his glass and stood up from his chair. "Since you're questioning me about why I didn't ask you to dance then, presumably you won't object if I ask you now." He came to stand in front of her chair and held out his hand to her.

"What?" Mrs. Hughes looked at his hand, then up into his face, startled.

Mr. Carson smiled, a hint of playfulness in his eyes. "Why should Mr. Crawley have all of the fun?"

Her eyes widened. Was he_ flirting_ with her?

At her continued silence, he spoke again. "But if you're tired, of course I understand." He began to withdraw his hand, but she quickly reached out and took it.

"I_ am_ tired, Mr. Carson," she said, smiling back. "But not so tired I'd turn down another opportunity to dance." She stood up from her chair, still holding his hand, then bit her lip thoughtfully. "You've forgotten something, though."

"What's that?"

"Music, of course."

He dismissed this idea with a wave of his hand. "I'll sing."

"Very well." Mrs. Hughes took a deep breath. This could be treacherous. The last time she had danced with Mr. Carson she had not been in love with him. Now she was. It felt so good to hold his hand that she was afraid dancing with him might prove quite overpowering.

Similar thoughts were crossing Mr. Carson's mind as they took their positions. He had known for some time that he loved her, but had decided to leave things as they were. He really felt he was a lucky man. He had a job that was important to him, working for a family he respected, and the woman he loved was at his side every day. They stuck together and took care of one another, though he had to admit she probably took more care of him than he did of her, and he thought that she loved him, too. Telling her would probably not make anything different, and it could make things a great deal worse if he turned out to be wrong about her feelings.

She laid one hand lightly on his shoulder and they moved together as he sang. She had sat beside him at church every Sunday for years, so she knew he could sing, but his voice still surprised her tonight. From the first note she was entranced. There was something different about hearing him sing hymns as part of a sea of droning worshippers than what she was listening to now. It was a love song, and he sang with a degree and softness of expression that captivated her. He looked into her eyes as he sang, and she felt like he might be looking right into her soul. She almost thought he might not really be Mr. Carson, he seemed at the moment so unlike the man she knew. But his voice, and the way he moved, and that heavenly smell of his told her that it must be him. She didn't think at all about her feet as they danced together, but she didn't make a single mistake as they circled the floor of the small room performing a tight little waltz. Her skin burned in the places he touched her, but she was barely aware of the rest of her body, only his. He filled her senses. She saw him, heard him, touched him, and smelled him. She thought if she could just cut off one of those senses for a while she might be able to calm her breathing and the pounding of her heart, but there was no way for her to do that inconspicuously. She could only stop touching him if she pulled away from him, but the song wasn't over yet. If she closed her eyes to avoid the sight of his dear face and his deep, dark eyes, she might give herself away. Of course she could not close her ears, so that voice of his continued to assault her heart. And to block that intoxicating scent, she would have to hold her breath, which of course could only last for so long. She tried to do it by breathing only through her mouth, but somehow she could still smell him, aftershave and soap and Charles invading her lungs. Perhaps the only sensible thing to do in this situation would be to run from the room and lock herself in her bedroom, mad though she might appear, but she was mesmerized by him and she stayed where she was.

For his part, as soon as he had her in his arms, Mr. Carson's feelings about the way he lived now changed completely. It no longer seemed sufficient to work by her side every day without ever telling her how he felt or enjoying any of the advantages of openly loving her. Holding her like this made him more forcefully aware of his desire for her, but that was nothing new. He had been dreaming of having her in his bed for years. What he hadn't thought of as much were the small, everyday intimacies, and thoughts of those burst on him as well. If she were really his, he could hold her hand as they walked to church and he could lean down and whisper that he loved her as they sat listening to Mr. Travis. He could squeeze her hand or touch her shoulder to encourage her on a particularly trying day, and he could steal a kiss when she came to his pantry in the middle of the afternoon to tell him she'd changed the dessert service. All of these things suddenly seemed so much more important than they ever had before. He wanted to tell her, but he wasn't sure if he ever would. With all of these thoughts crowding his mind, it was a wonder that he kept singing and dancing, missing neither a note nor a step.

"You've quite a voice, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes said lightly after a few minutes. "Perhaps you ought to go on the stage." He stiffened, and his smile suddenly seemed a little forced, which naturally she observed. "What's the matter?"

"What do you mean?" he said, trying to evade her.

"I complimented your singing voice and suddenly you turned to stone," she explained in mild exasperation. "Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

He sighed. "I knew I'd have to tell you one day."

Her eyes widened. "Heavens! Tell me what?"

He paused for several seconds, then spoke quietly. "That I've_ been_ on the stage."

Her mouth dropped open.

"I'm almost surprised you haven't found out already, considering that three people in this house right now became aware of it some years ago. You always seem to know everything."

She laughed. "Sometimes more than is good for me. Who are these three individuals who have kept a secret from the all-knowing Mrs. Hughes for so long?"

"His lordship, Mr. Bates, and Anna. They were here when my old song-and-dance partner turned up at the house to make trouble. So was Lady Sybil. She was quite young and must have found it all very amusing, but it seems she kept quiet."

"And you may be sure I'll keep quiet as well, Mr. Carson, but I'm afraid you'll not escape without telling me about it."

So he told her the story, as they continued to waltz around the room without music. He told her everything, more than just the bits his former partner had revealed, from his youthful foolishness on the stage and the hand-to-mouth existence that went along with it to Grigg's reappearance and attempts at blackmail years later. She took it well, as he knew she would, responding to his tale with words and smiles that soothed his bruised dignity.

"Would you sing me another song now, Mr. Carson?" she asked when he had finished. "I interrupted you before."

He nodded. "You're tired," he said. "Rest your head on me."

She didn't argue, and he thought he heard her sigh as she laid her head on his chest and he began to sing again, this time more softly. Mrs. Hughes felt alternately lulled and thrilled by his voice. She was very tired, and the sound and vibration against her ear was soothing, but she was kept alert by an acute awareness of his nearness, of his breath lightly tickling her neck.

Mr. Carson felt all at once that he was as happy as he had ever been, while at the same time wanting so much more. The urge to tell her rose again, but he suppressed it. He did not have a plan. He might tell her that he loved her, but then what? What exactly did he intend to do about it? He could think of no greater honor than being her husband, but he did not know for certain how she felt or what she thought, how the family would react, or whether he should suggest retirement, for one or both of them. Where before it had seemed an impossibility, it now appeared that there might be a way, but there still were so many obstacles. He would think about it later. For now he would simply concentrate on how lucky he was to be holding her. When he had finished singing the longest song he could think of, as slowly as he could possibly sing it, they broke apart and bid one another good night. Upstairs, the couple they had left dancing earlier separated as well, the gramophone long gone silent.

One pair held hands as they made their way to the large and luxurious room they shared. The other two made their way up separate staircases to separate rooms. In just a few hours, the new year would be in full swing.

_To be continued..._


	2. 1922

There was no Servants' Ball to ring in 1922. The family was in mourning again, this time for Matthew Crawley. Things at Downton Abbey were still very unsettled, and the Ball was cancelled. As midnight neared and Mr. Carson didn't appear in the servants' hall to join the rest of the staff for the festivities, Mrs. Hughes went in search of him. She found him asleep in his desk chair, which he had pushed back so that his head could lean against the wall. Mrs. Hughes shook her head. That couldn't be very comfortable; he must be exhausted. She paused for a moment and watched him sleep before she approached to wake him.

"Mr. Carson," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder and shaking it gently. "I'm sorry to wake you, but I'm afraid you must get up."

He opened his eyes and looked around, then up at her. "What time is it?" he said, blinking his eyes groggily and trying to orient himself to where he was.

"It's nearly midnight. We're all waiting for you." She moved her hand down his arm to take him by the elbow and help him rise from the chair. Mr. Carson didn't really need her help to stand up, but she hoped she could lend him a different sort of strength with her touch. He had not been himself for several months, trying to bear the grief of Mr. Crawley's loss and Lady Mary's brokenness. He did not resist her touch or her assistance. She dropped her arm from his when they reached the pantry door, and they walked together to the servants' hall, where a noisy crowd was gathered.

As he took his seat at the head of the table, Mr. Carson pulled out his watch to check the time. He would give the countdown to midnight in just a few minutes. He did feel somewhat revived by his nap, but he still hoped the celebration wouldn't last long. He was not in the mood to be in such a crowd. He wished instead for what he had almost every other night after dinner - a quiet chat with Mrs. Hughes. He sighed and resigned himself to enduring the party. It would be over soon enough.

Sure enough, it wasn't much after one o'clock when Mr. Carson found himself in his pantry. Mrs. Hughes had not come, so he went looking for her. He found her in the kitchen, boiling water.

"We've just been drinking wine, so I thought perhaps tea would be best for tonight," she said.

He nodded.

"You can go back to your pantry, Mr. Carson," she said, looking at him over her shoulder. "I'll bring the tray in a minute."

"No, it's all right," he said. "I'll wait."

And he did wait, very patiently, watching as she poured the water over the tea leaves and fetched two cups and placed them on the tray with the teapot and a plate of biscuits.

"There," she said to herself when the tray was ready. Before she could pick it up, though, Mr. Carson swooped in and took it. She followed him into his pantry and they sat down together. Just as he always poured the wine or sherry, she always fixed their tea. He took a biscuit and nibbled on it while he waited.

"It's very different from last year, isn't it?" Mrs. Hughes said, handing him his cup. "We'll never have a repeat of that lovely little surprise."

Mr. Carson knew just what she meant. "They were so happy. I wonder how long they stayed there dancing after we'd left."

"We had no idea he wouldn't be with us this year. That it would be my last time dancing with him."

"I was a bit grumpy about it at first, but I'm glad we went with them," Mr. Carson said.

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "As though we had some choice in the matter! They were both quite determined."

He gave a little sad smile, but then his lips turned down into a frown. "She hardly leaves her room now."

Mrs. Hughes was just as aware as he was of Lady Mary's behavior since the death of her husband, but she remained silent, sensing that he needed to talk about it.

"I feel so powerless to help her. She rarely leaves her room and when she does she won't speak to me." He sighed heavily. "I can hardly barge in and demand her attention. She's the one who needs comforting, not me."

"Oh, I don't know about that."

He frowned. "What do you mean? She's lost her husband."

"But you need comforting, too, Mr. Carson," she said gently. "When she hurts, you hurt, and that's a hard burden to bear. I can see how much it grieves you."

His shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "I don't sleep very much," he admitted.

It pained Mrs. Hughes to see him like this. The grief was wearing on him, and she worried it would eventually break him down. He had a strong will, but Lady Mary was one of his weaknesses. Mrs. Hughes wanted to wrap her arms around him and try to take some of his troubles away. She had begun taking more liberties with him lately - taking his arm or touching his shoulder, even occasionally brushing her foot against his leg while they were eating - but she did not know how he would react if she actually embraced him.

"Mr. Carson," she said, finding a compromise. "Would you like to dance?"

He opened his eyes, a little surprised, but he smiled back, some of the tension leaving his body. "I would, Mrs. Hughes."

They both stood and took their positions for a waltz. He didn't sing this time. Mrs. Hughes hummed quietly and they danced around the room. She closed her eyes and let him lead. She felt as though her feet had wings and she was flitting about the room like a fairy or a sprite, in the arms of the man she loved. His step was light, too, in spite of his heavy heart. She considered speaking, but could think of no topic of conversation that seemed fitting for this lovely, ethereal moment. Her own light song, accompanied by the sounds of their feet tapping and brushing across the floor, was perfect to her. After a few minutes, their steps began to slow in accord. They took a few more turns around the room, but somehow, by an unspoken agreement, they gradually stopped the waltz and stood in one place, just swaying together. She rested her head on his chest and he could not help burying his nose in her hair.

Just as he had last year when they had danced together in his pantry, Mr. Carson found himself fighting the compulsion to tell Mrs. Hughes right then and there that he loved her. He pondered his reasons for not doing so, hoping that he could find some peace of mind about the whole matter. It was difficult, when he was holding her in his arms, to think of any good cause for him to continue as he was. Why had he held back? He had seen signs that had lit a small flame of hope in his heart, signs that she might love him back. There were times when it seemed they argued constantly, but though she was tenacious as she said her piece, and she did not hesitate to put him very firmly in his place, she never seemed truly angry with him. And he had to admit that she would have had just cause to be angry, after the way he spoke to her sometimes. Remembering the whole affair of Ethel Parks, he winced inwardly. His memory unfortunately had not allowed him to forget his own words. "You disappoint me. I never thought of you as a woman with no standards." She must have known that he did not really think so ill of her, but she also would have known that such a remark verged on being an intentional insult, coming from his mouth. She had swept out of the room at that, shooting him a look that would have cowed a lesser man, but the next time they met they went on as they had before, disagreeing about this and that but never actually falling out.

In fact, there was one exchange that he could reflect on with some satisfaction, not because of his own behavior, but because of her reaction to his words. It was the appearance of Ethel, once again, that had provoked him to rebel against her urging him to show kindness toward the young woman. "You can talk as tough as you like," he had said. "I know _you_ won't abandon me." And she hadn't denied this. She had the perfect opening to take him down a peg by asking him why he was so sure she would not desert him, but she had only asked why that knowledge didn't make him kinder. He had begun to hope, but his hope had also made him fearful. The world was changing all around him, but now what was inside of him was changing as well. He had loved her for years, but somehow things seemed to change even more dramatically. He began to feel more strongly the effects of his love for her. When he thought about her in quiet moments - while polishing silver, going over the cellar inventory, or getting dressed in the morning - he felt breathless, his skin felt as though it were being tickled by a thousand feathers, and he felt an absurd urge to laugh out loud. Occasionally he caught sight of her when she didn't know he was watching, and he found himself staring - at her eyes, her smile, a loose curl on the back of her head, the toe of her shoe, anything and everything. He was no stranger to desire and infatuation, but_ this_ was something different. He feared this love that was inside of him, feared that it could destroy what they already had together, their special friendship. Sometimes, in fanciful moments, he even felt like it might consume him completely and that all that would be found of him was a pile of ash on the pantry floor. But he could not extinguish his hope any more than he could extinguish his love, and when they were alone together in the evening all of the pain and confusion and fear seemed worthwhile, because _she_ was worth it.

He could also remember with painful clarity the very last time he had spoken harshly to her. He had enjoyed his hours in the empty house, with only little Sybbie for company, and when she had returned from Thirsk, Mrs. Hughes had found him in the library with the child in his arms. She had smiled so sweetly at him as they reminisced about Lady Sybil, but when that fear overtook him again, he dismissed her. "There's no need to get sentimental, Mrs. Hughes." That time he_ had_ seen a flash of hurt in her eyes before she carried on as though he had not just uttered that graceless remark, and it made him remorseful. His remorse, in fact, had surpassed his fear, and he had resolved soon after that he would not continue to erect walls around his heart. He had been trying to keep her at a distance, but she had already made herself at home in his heart, so putting up these walls did not make a shred of difference. In fact, they were more likely than not to hurt someone, usually her. He was being unnecessarily cruel, and for what? To protect himself? To protect her? He had done nothing but hurt her. It was indeed true that she would not, and did not, abandon him, even when he spoke unfeelingly to her. She seemed to recognize as truth what he had said - "I am who I am" - and he was ashamed at this thought. He didn't want her to simply accept that this insensitivity was part of him. He didn't want it to be part of him any longer. He wanted to be better, to deserve her and her steadfastness, so he stopped pushing her away. He let her fuss and worry over him, saved his sharp words for misbehaving footmen, and tried, wordlessly, to make amends for how he had treated her. He'd never manage to be as kind as she was, but he could be kinder_ to her_. He loved her, after all, and she didn't deserve his scorn just because he was afraid.

His thoughts returned to the present and to the woman in his arms, and all at once Mr. Carson could bear his own silence no longer. He was tired to the bone and stripped of all his defenses. He heaved a great, shuddering sigh and spoke in a voice barely louder than a whisper. "I love you," he said into her hair. Mrs. Hughes made no reply, though she stopped humming. His clock ticked. Ten seconds, twenty, thirty. "Did you know?" he asked.

He felt her nod. "Did you know that I love you, too?" she said.

"I thought you might."

They stayed like this for a few minutes, barely moving.

"What are we going to do about it?" Mrs. Hughes wondered.

"I'm not sure."

"We'll have to decide," she said.

"Yes." He nodded firmly.

"Tomorrow. We'll talk tomorrow."

"Yes, tomorrow. Or later today, rather."

"I look forward to it. But for now..." She trailed off.

"For now we don't need to talk."

Finally she raised her head from where it rested on his chest and looked into his eyes. "No."

A moment later his lips were touching hers, gently at first, but then more insistently. She slid her arms around his neck. When he teased her mouth open with his tongue, her legs became unsteady, but he held her tightly to keep her from falling. She'd wished for a long time for this, but the reality of kissing him surpassed everything she had imagined. After a while he pulled away from her so they could both breathe. "You're beautiful," he said, resting her forehead on hers.

She smiled. "We're not supposed to be talking," she said.

"I know. I can't help it." He bent to drop kisses along her jaw. "Marry me, Elsie," he whispered in her ear. "I don't know when or how. But please say you will. I want you forever."

"Yes, I will," she said, shivering at the feel of his breath in her ear. "I'll be yours forever. And you'll be mine."

"I've been yours for a long while, Elsie."

"Not completely."

"No. But as much as I could be."

"Well, it doesn't matter now. We'll talk tomorrow."

"You mean later today."

"Do stop talking, Mr. Carson."

"Not if you keep calling me Mr. Carson," he whispered, kissing her neck.

"Oh, Charles," she sighed.

"That's better, Elsie."

#####

Most of the servants were rather subdued at breakfast on January 1, 1922. Not all were suffering from the effects of too much drink, but everyone had been awake later than usual. It was Sunday, which meant church in an hour, but Mrs. Hughes had a feeling more than a few of them would not appear in their pews for the service. She and Mr. Carson had been awake later than the others, so she was a bit tired, but since she had not had much more wine than she might on any other night, her head did not ache and her mind was clear. She looked forward to the cold walk to the village this morning, for the sole reason that she intended to take Mr. Carson's arm from the house to the church. It would not be the first time she had done so in the past year or so, but it was not something she did often, only occasionally. She knew today, though, that she would be taking his arm to church and back every Sunday thereafter. They had not yet sat down together to make detailed plans, but they were going to be married, which she felt entitled her to the pleasure of walking to the village on his arm once a week. After they were married she would have rights over the rest of him. They had agreed to meet for tea in his pantry later in the day, when they would decide how their paths in life would merge and continue together.

The frost crunched beneath their feet as they walked the familiar path to church, Mrs. Hughes's hand tucked securely in Mr. Carson's elbow. She stole a glance up at him and was pleased to see him looking so content. In the earliest hours of the new year she had listened as he spoke of his powerlessness, looking so exhausted and grieved, but his face was quite changed now. She knew that his concern for Lady Mary was as strong as ever, but Mrs. Hughes wasn't sure when she had last seen him smile so. Probably when he had announced George Crawley's birth to her and Mrs. Patmore, though this morning he looked a little more sedate and dignified than he had that day when he had come almost bounding into her sitting room with the news.

Mr. Carson caught her looking at him and raised his eyebrows in question. "What is it?" he asked.

"I was just thinking how nice it is to see a smile on your face, Mr. Carson," she answered.

"It's you that's put it there, Mrs. Hughes."

"I'll take it away just as often, you know."

"What do you mean?"

"Just that marrying you will not make me docile and obedient," she said. "I'm sure I'll exasperate you just as much as ever."

"What did you say, dear?" he asked, pretending not to have understood her. "I didn't hear anything after the bit about your marrying me. That's all I can think of at the moment."

She smiled. "You heard me, Mr. Carson."

"Are you trying to talk me out of making you my wife? Because it isn't working."

"Of course I'm not!"

"Do you think me a fool, Mrs. Hughes?" he said seriously.

"Only occasionally, Mr. Carson," she said, a hint of her cheeky dimple appearing.

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Only a fool would have asked Elsie Hughes to marry him if he wanted a docile and obedient wife."

She tilted her head to one side. "True," she said playfully. "And I suppose you'll be just as troublesome as I will, so we should come out about even in the end, don't you think?"

He chuckled softly, remembering something she had said to him years ago. "I don't know about that. I think I have the better bargain."

_To be continued..._


	3. 1923

**This chapter includes a brief appearance by Lily, the main character of kouw's _Connection_. This story of course is AU for Lily (and the rest of the characters, for that matter), but I liked her so much that she found her way into this story. If you have not yet read _Connection_, you should check it out. Thank you, kouw, for permission to use Lily. I hope I have at least moderately done her justice.**

For the first time in several years, there was to be a Servants' Ball to celebrate the new year, 1923. This year Mrs. Hughes and Lady Grantham had had sufficient time to plan what would be the grandest Servants' Ball Downton Abbey had seen since before the War. There was nothing to mourn this year, and many things to celebrate, not least the two young children flourishing in the nursery. The staff were extremely busy preparing for the festivities, but they looked forward to enjoying the dancing and feasting. Mrs. Hughes had something else to look forward to, and she went through the preparations for the Ball almost automatically, her thoughts much more focused on an event set to take place a few days later.

By the time the staff were carrying the kitchen's delicious creations upstairs to the hall, Mrs. Hughes was amazed that Mrs. Patmore was not hoarse; she had been shouting at Daisy and Ivy all day. And no wonder. She had the usual meals to prepare, along with the feast for the Ball. At least Lady Grantham had hired some extra kitchen help for the day. Mrs. Patmore being Mrs. Patmore, there was still no rest or reprieve from scolding for her kitchen staff, and the looks of relief on those poor girls' faces when they were finally released to go up and dress for the Ball were almost comical to Mrs. Hughes. She was sympathetic, but she knew that the cook ruled the kitchen and any interference by the housekeeper on behalf of the kitchen maids would likely make things worse rather than better. They would enjoy themselves tonight, at least, and Mrs. Patmore was sure to be in a better humor the next day, when she was not under quite as much pressure.

Before she went up to change her gown, Mrs. Hughes knocked on the door of the butler's pantry and slipped inside. She found Mr. Carson seated at his desk and staring into space, his hands clasped together on the desk.

"Woolgathering, Charles?" she asked.

He looked up at her and smiled. "Hello, Elsie."

"Isn't it time you were changing your cufflinks?" she asked. "Lady Grantham would not like it if you were late."

He rose and straightened his waistcoat before coming to stand before her, his expression belying his stern tone. "Nor would Lord Grantham care for _his_ first partner of the night to be late," he said. "I can't think why you are here giving me an advance scolding for tardiness when it will surely take you longer to dress than it will me."

"I'm sorry, Charles," she said with an answering smile. "I just wanted a moment alone with you before the madness begins." She took one of his hands and squeezed it.

He pulled her into his arms and touched his forehead to hers. "I can't wait."

"Not long now."

"Three interminable days."

She laughed and kissed him, then pulled away to leave the room. "I'd best be going, Charles." He tugged her back for one more kiss before releasing her.

"Go, then, love, and I'll see you later.

She gave him a dimpled smile and left the room.

#####

"Well, this is the end of a tradition, Mrs. Hughes," Lord Grantham said as they began the first waltz.

"It is, milord," she answered, smiling.

"I hope you've taught the future Mrs. Crabtree to dance as well as how to manage Downton Abbey," he joked.

Mrs. Hughes had to laugh at that. "I'll admit that's one bit of instruction it never occurred to me to give our Margaret. I hope she doesn't tread on your toes next year."

"I suppose I'll just have to hope that she is light on her feet even without your instruction," Lord Grantham replied.

"She may be. I wasn't trained in dancing by Mrs. Roberts, after all. I already had that particular skill before I came to Downton."

"I shall simply hope, Mrs. Hughes, that she dances as well as you, though I think it unlikely," he said with a smile.

"You're very kind, milord. I do love to dance," she admitted.

Lord Grantham looked surprised. "Do you? How have I been unaware of that for all of these years? And here I was thinking this first dance was always rather a penance for you!"

"Nonsense. You dance very well, milord."

Lord Grantham was silent for a few moments, scanning the room around them. "You've outdone yourself, Mrs. Hughes," he said. "Everything is absolutely beautiful."

Mrs. Hughes couldn't completely suppress the pride in her smile, but she answered as she knew she should. "You can thank her ladyship for most of this, milord. She did a great deal of planning."

Lord Grantham smiled. "Yes, she did, but she certainly did not do it alone, and the execution of it was entirely in _your_ hands."

She nodded in acknowledgment. "Very well. I thank you, milord."

"Mrs. Hughes," he said hesitatingly. She didn't prompt him, but simply waited for him to continue. "I hope I am not impertinent, but I would like to thank you for your patience."

She was perplexed. "My patience, milord?"

"Yes, your patience, with the Crawley family and with Carson. I don't presume to know your mind, but I think given the choice most women in your situation would perhaps have preferred a much shorter engagement."

She did not speak, but she smiled a little. _Most women my age, he means, _she thought. _At least he has the delicacy not to put it that way._

He went on. "Carson has been part of the fabric of Downton for such a long time, and I think he finds it as hard to let go of his work as the Crawleys find it to let go of him."

Mrs. Hughes nodded. "That he does. But he would not be the man he is if he were not so loyal to the Crawleys."

"Which bodes well for his future wife, I suppose," Lord Grantham mused. "For he certainly will show her the same care he does our family."

"Yes, he will." Mrs. Hughes smiled. "He already does."

"I'm glad. We would have righted ourselves eventually without him had he left with shorter notice, but had he taken our ship's co-captain with him, I'm afraid we would have been quite lost at sea."

"I am sure that Mr. Barrow would have managed well enough," she demurred. "He knows the house, after all."

"Perhaps," he said with a shrug. "But regardless of any of that, if you had both wished to leave us in the summer, the cottage would still have been yours, Mrs. Hughes, and with my good wishes," Lord Grantham said seriously. "We do not mean to stand in the way of your happiness."

"Of course not, milord."

"That is why I thank you for your patience, in fully training your replacement, and in continuing to support Carson as he gets used to the idea of retiring. I can see how much he depends on you."

Mrs. Hughes bit her lip. "I believe he is reconciled now to leaving Downton Abbey for an establishment far less grand."

"I am quite sure he is," Lord Grantham said with a smile. "Much more than he might have been had he not known he would be accompanied by a certain Mrs. Carson."

"I hope so," Mrs. Hughes answered, her lips twitching. She knew it was so, and it made her very happy.

"I think you must look forward to setting up your own house."

"I do. It will be nice to have a bit more space to call my own. Your lordship and her ladyship have been more than generous in helping us furnish our cottage."

"It's the least we could do for two such valued individuals. Besides, I think the Crawleys have the better end of this bargain. If you and Carson had not decided to marry, we would be providing two cottages instead of just one."

Mrs. Hughes chuckled at his jest. "Then it works out well for all of us."

#####

"Well done, Elsie. Beautifully executed as always," Mr. Carson said, appearing as usual beside Mrs. Hughes at the edge of the room. It was his custom, at some time during the Servants' Ball, and almost every other special event, to find his way to her side and compliment her work, but it meant something to her that he called her by her Christian name now. In front of the staff they were still always Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes, as they should be, but when it was just the two of them, they were Charles and Elsie.

"Thank you, Charles. I'm rather proud of how everything turned out."

"You should be. They are all enjoying themselves."

"And you? Are you enjoying yourself?" she said.

"I could enjoy myself more if you would put down that cup of punch and dance with me."

Mrs. Hughes was a little surprised. "Now, Charles? What about the dignity of your position?" she teased.

He raised his eyebrows. "I believe the dignity of my position as your future husband would be offended if I did _not_ ask you to dance."

She smiled and set her drink on the table behind her. "Very well, I've put down my cup. But you have not actually _asked_ me yet."

Mr. Carson held out his hand. "Elsie, may I have the honor of the next dance?"

"You may," she said, putting her hand in his and allowing him to lead her to the floor. "A waltz. Very fitting," she mused as they joined the flow of dancers stepping and whirling and turning around the room.

"Indeed," he said, looking at her intently. "Waltzing with you always gives me the urge to confess."

"I shall have to remember that," she said playfully. "Have you anything to confess to me tonight, Charles?"

"A great many things," he answered, "the first being that I love you."

"Shh," she shushed him, looking around. "Someone might hear you."

He shook his head at her, smiling. "As though everyone in the house doesn't already know it."

She couldn't help the smile and blush that appeared on her face in response. Mr. Carson was never anything but proper within sight of the family and staff, but she knew she was not the only one who could see the way he softened when she was near. It was true that she had known he loved her before he ever told her so, but she had not been quite aware of everything that was in his heart, everything that he had kept locked up tight until that quiet waltz in his pantry a year ago. She had felt the eyes of men on her before she had ever met Mr. Carson. She knew when a man admired her, and when a man desired her, and when she knew Mr. Carson she came to recognize the look of a man who loved her, but was trying to hide it from her and from himself. Now, however, he did not hide it, and occasionally she looked up and saw him staring at her, his eyes full of what she could only call adoration. She didn't like to use that word in such a situation; it seemed so fanciful to her. But his gaze was filled with a sort of reverence and devotion that she had always thought he reserved only for the Crawley family, and sometimes she could not look away. She had underestimated his love, or perhaps underestimated love in general. She wondered if the gaze she returned reflected her own feelings - her own love and devotion, and the wonder she felt. She was amazed that such feelings existed for her in the heart of any man and she wondered how she could possibly deserve them. So many years of unacknowledged love had been both a torment and a blessing to her, but now the torment was gone and at times it seemed like almost more happiness than she could bear. She knew that anyone who witnessed these shared glances could see it, or at least some of it, and in a year's time no member of the household could have missed it. Not a soul at Downton Abbey believed that the butler was marrying the housekeeper for friendship or convenience.

"And what do you feel compelled to confess to me this evening, Charles? Have you got any more dark secrets?" Mrs. Hughes asked teasingly.

Mr. Carson grimaced. "No more dark secrets. I think you've heard them all. I've just got apologies tonight."

"Apologies, Charles?" she said, perplexed. "Whatever for?"

"I haven't always treated you as I should, Elsie," he said seriously. "Not as the woman I loved, or even as just my friend."

Mrs. Hughes relaxed and smiled at him. "Charles, you've been apologizing for that all year."

"But the way I spoke to you!" he protested.

She shook her head. "You are Charles Carson and I am Elsie Hughes. Even after I change my name in three days we will still sometimes quarrel and plague each other. There will never be a day when either of us has uttered our last apology."

"I tried to keep you out, you know," he said quietly.

"So you've already told me, Charles," she said patiently. "But you've also told me of the moment you decided to stop pushing me away. You've kept that resolution, you know."

"I've certainly tried."

"And you've succeeded," she said gently. "Now put your mind to the task ahead of you. If you go back on that resolution once we're married, I shall have no mercy on you."

Mr. Carson finally smiled. "I should hope not. If that blustery old Charles Carson appears again, you may box his ears."

"Don't think that I won't," she said, and he could see that her expression was at once both serious and teasing.

"It seems almost ludicrous to me now, Elsie, but I was so afraid in those days of what love would do to me. I feared it would turn me into something I didn't want to be. That I would somehow not be myself, or that I might be completely at your mercy, if I ever admitted I loved you. But it's been none of the terrible things I feared."

"I'm glad."

"In fact I think I am a better man now than I was a year ago," he continued. "I'm still myself, only somehow better, and happier of course. And all because of you."

Mrs. Hughes was quite touched. "I don't think anyone's ever said anything more wonderful to me," she answered softly.

"It's true, Elsie." He paused before continuing in a slightly mischievous tone. "I _am_ entirely at your mercy sometimes, but I find I don't dislike it. You are an indulgent captor."

Mrs. Hughes looked up at him sharply. She wasn't quite sure if if he was referring to what sprang to _her_ mind immediately at his words. She tried to push from her thoughts the memories of the handful of illicit encounters that had occurred under this roof since her engagement to Mr. Carson, on occasions when their resolve had slipped and they had lost their heads. The Crawleys did not object to their engagement, but they might be less than pleased to know what the housekeeper and butler had gotten up to in her sitting room a dozen or so times in the last six months, not to mention that one afternoon of sheer madness in a deserted room on the bachelor's corridor. Mrs. Hughes could hardly believe that last liaison had happened at all. She must have been out of her mind. It was one thing to get carried away late at night when everyone was in bed, but it was another thing entirely to have such a rendezvous in the middle of the day, where they might have been found by one of the other servants. At least she had had the presence of mind to lock the door before many buttons had been undone. She could scarcely believe she had let herself go like that, but what was even more shocking was that _he_ had done so. It made her feel secretly powerful. He _was_ rather at her mercy, but she was just as much at his. Yes, indeed, she _was_ anxious to set up her own house, as she'd told Lord Grantham earlier.

"You're blushing, Elsie," Mr. Carson pointed out, and from the devilish glint in his eye Mrs. Hughes could see that he knew just what she was thinking about.

"And I notice you're not," she said archly.

"Me? Why should I?" he said in mock seriousness.

"I've got nothing to blush for but what you were involved in as well," she whispered. "Don't forget where we are, you daft man."

Mr. Carson cleared his throat and straightened, looking around surreptitiously. He was foolish to tease her in such a place, but his patience was wearing thin. Ironically, however, he had only himself to blame. _She_ was not the one who had decided on a much longer engagement than was right. Mrs. Hughes, to his surprise, had wanted to wait until Lady Mary was more herself before they married - something about not wanting to marry such a long-faced groom. After that, though, he had wanted to fully train Mr. Barrow, and when Lady Grantham asked what he thought of the idea of Mrs. Hughes training her own replacement, he had agreed on her behalf, though he recognized his mistake almost as soon as the words left his mouth. There had been a dreadful row in her sitting room that night; he had not often seen her that angry. They had made peace, however, on the condition that he set a date and stick to it. She would allow him to fix a date of his choosing, but there would be no putting it off beyond that day, whether Mr. Barrow or Margaret or the Crawleys were ready or not. Mr. Carson could see now that he had underestimated Mr. Barrow's readiness and overestimated the time it would take for Mrs. Hughes to train the new housekeeper, but once they had committed to staying at Downton Abbey until January, there was no going back. They had both made the best of it, and now the day was finally near. He looked forward to sharing a home with her, and only her. There would be no more need for restraint. Propriety would not be offended or bid them be quiet once they were in their little cottage, even now ready to receive its new residents.

#####

It was nearly four o'clock when they kissed goodnight and parted for the night. Mrs. Hughes reached her room and removed all of the pins from her hair before she noticed that her bed was occupied by one of her housemaids.

"Lily!" Mrs. Hughes exclaimed in surprise.

The girl awakened with a start and began to apologize. "Oh, Mrs. Hughes, I'm so sorry!" she said, jumping up and trying to smooth her dress and hair. "I only wanted to - I thought you would be - I'm sorry, Mrs. Hughes." Lily clamped her mouth shut, seemingly determined to say no more.

Mrs. Hughes smiled, though she was puzzled. She was fond of the odd, quiet girl who had arrived at Downton a few years ago. "Whatever are you doing in here, my girl?"

"I was afraid you might not go to your sitting room after the Ball, so I came here. I thought you would be up sooner. I suppose that's why I fell asleep."

"Were you waiting for me then?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes."

"And will you tell me why?" Mrs. Hughes prompted her. Lily looked distressed and began wringing her hands.

"Come now, dear," Mrs. Hughes said, approaching the girl and laying a hand on her shoulder. "You're not in any trouble. I just want to know what's so important you had to tell me about it in the middle of the night."

"I wanted to say goodbye, Mrs. Hughes," Lily said, her voice quavering.

"Are you leaving us?"

Lily looked up at Mrs. Hughes in surprise. "No, you are."

"Not for another two days."

"I know, but if I waited too long - I was afraid -"

"You were afraid the others might crowd you out, your being so much quieter than the rest of the lot," Mrs. Hughes said. "I think I understand, Lily." After almost twenty-four hours awake, Mrs. Hughes was nearly asleep on her feet, but the poor girl seemed in need of reassurance, so she sat down and patted the bed beside her. "Sit down for a moment, dear."

Lily obeyed.

"Something's troubling you. Will you tell me what it is?"

"I-I'll miss you, Mrs. Hughes," the girl whispered.

"Well, that's very kind, Lily, but I won't be far. You can come for tea on your half-day if you like."

Lily looked cheered by this prospect. "Mr. Carson won't mind?"

Mrs. Hughes laughed. "Of course he won't mind! It will be my house, too, you know. Mr. Carson may be in charge of everyone here, but in a few days time he won't be in charge of anyone."

"I don't think Mr. Carson was ever in charge of _you_, Mrs. Hughes," Lily said. "At least not since I've been here. It seems more the other way round."

Mrs. Hughes studied the girl's face. She might have scolded another maid for the impertinence of this remark, but Lily was different from the rest. She had secrets enough of her own, that girl, but there was no slyness in her eyes. She had almost an otherworldly look about her, an appearance of youth and guilelessness, but with such wise eyes. And Mrs. Hughes could hardly deny the truth of her comments. When she had arrived as head housemaid all those years ago, Mr. Carson had had a certain degree of authority over her, but once she had become housekeeper, they had settled into a fairly equal relationship. She did not report to Mr. Carson and though, as king of the downstairs domain, he could question or challenge her, he did not often exercise that authority, and rarely in front of the others.

Lily realized what she had said and began to apologize. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hughes. I didn't mean to be cheeky."

Mrs. Hughes waved off the apology. "It's all right, just this once. I'm too tired to scold. I hope you enjoyed yourself tonight."

"Oh, yes!" Lily said with enthusiasm. "Thank you for helping me get ready for the Ball. I did not know dancing would be so enjoyable."

"I was happy to give you a little lesson. You did well. And I agree with you. Dancing can be enjoyable." Mrs. Hughes sighed and smiled. "Quite wonderful, in fact."

_To be continued..._


	4. 1924

Mr. and Mrs. Carson walked arm-in-arm away from their home, keeping close together to draw warmth from each other on this cold December evening. They walked at a speed that might have been called brisk, but was a great deal more relaxed than the walking they had done, together and separately, as they prepared for last year's Servants' Ball. Retirement had changed them both. Mr. Carson had been altered perhaps more than his wife, but even she had needed time to establish a routine very different from the one she had lived within for the last twenty-odd years.

"You ought to dance with Anna, Charles," Mrs. Carson said.

"Yes, she loves to dance, doesn't she? And of course Mr. Bates isn't able to."

"Exactly."

"I'll keep an eye on her," Mr. Carson agreed. "But she may not lack for partners, even without me."

"That is true."

"I hope you're saving the first dance for me, Elsie," he said.

"Of course." In the darkness he could not see her answering smile, but he could hear it in her voice. "I can't think of anyone I'd rather dance with than you."

"I'll be the luckiest man in the room. The other men will be quite envious when they see the beauty in my arms at the start of that first waltz."

Mrs. Carson nudged her husband slightly with her elbow. It pleased her when he spoke like this, but she didn't always know what to say in return, so occasionally when he paid her a compliment, she found herself swatting his arm, ruffling his carefully combed hair, or even pinching him lightly. She was always gentle, and he didn't seem to mind. He liked paying her compliments and he could tell she liked receiving them, but he understood her. Mr. Carson might have adjusted more slowly to the idea of retirement, and he might have been quite traditional about "the way things should be done," but Mrs. Carson had not been accustomed to his sweet gallantry or prepared for how frequently he would employ it. As Elsie, she had known men of a different sort, not bad men, but less refined men, who paid her the compliment of telling her she was a bonny lass and inviting her to a village dance or proposing a friendly marriage of convenience. As Mrs. Hughes she was not an object of open admiration from any man, at least not for something besides her work. She was proud of what she had accomplished, so she certainly did not mind when Lord Grantham thanked her for responding quickly to some last-minute request or Mr. Carson complimented her planning of a garden party, but that was a different matter entirely. In the end she had spent quite a few years being not fully a woman in the eyes of most of the people around her, and it was difficult, though not unpleasant, to get used to the things her husband said to her now. If any other man paid her one of these quietly effusive compliments, she would probably have rolled her eyes, and certainly wouldn't have believed that he meant it, but Mr. Carson's slightly courtly style of wooing her, something that much to her surprise had begun rather than ended with their marriage, was entirely sincere. It was still a wonder to her that she could inspire that kind of open affection in any man, much less Mr. Carson. She felt that he deserved just as many compliments as he paid her, but she realized that a man like him would even better appreciate a different sort of compliment from the woman he loved and had developed her own style of returning the favor of his gallant words. She expressed her affection and admiration by little touches and looks, and by flirting with him in a manner reminiscent of some of her behavior in the last few years before their engagement. Her teasing and scolding were gentler and sweeter now, because she knew that he would not dismiss her or speak harshly as he sometimes had done in the past in response to her attempts to draw him out or even to pay him a veiled compliment. And Mr. Carson did appreciate every flirtatious touch or look in her eyes, and most especially every expression of her face, which he had always found endlessly fascinating, even when it baffled him, and which now became more beautiful to him with each passing day. Of course she still regularly told him how handsome he was, but for the most part she expressed her feelings differently than he did. It suited them both, though, and they easily developed new rhythms of relating to one another. It was effortless, really. After so many years of working side-by-side they could adapt and adjust to one another most of the time, but each still stood their ground when it was important to do so. They had their spats, but the _rapprochements_ that always followed were much more satisfying than they had ever been before. For so many years, this sort of reconciliation usually happened silently and with no apologies at all, but now neither feared sometimes admitting wrong and the touches and kisses that usually followed meant surprisingly agreeable peacemaking.

"I wasn't sure if we would be invited to the Ball or not," Mrs. Carson said.

"Did you really doubt it? Lord Grantham is a man of his word," Mr. Carson asserted. "He told you last year that he would send an invitation."

"Of course he is a man of his word," she said. "But a great deal can be forgotten in a year, and her ladyship is the one who issues the invitations."

He conceded this with a nod. "Nevertheless, we do find ourselves walking to Downton Abbey on New Year's Eve, ready to dance."

"And here we are," she said.

They approached the servants' entrance. They had both visited on a few occasions, so it would not be the first time since their marriage that they had entered as guests. Mr. Carson opened the door without ringing the bell, walked in, and held it open for his wife. He guided her in with a hand on the small of her back. Sights and sounds of a familiar orderly chaos greeted them downstairs as the staff finished preparations for the ball. Mr. and Mrs. Carson both took a certain amount of comfort from this brisk atmosphere. It had been home for so many years, and while neither wished to return to their positions here, there was a certain pride in knowing that they were still a part of it, in a way. They had trained most of the staff who were working so efficiently to make the event a success, and they each felt affection, in their different ways, for many of the individuals who had so long been under their authority and care.

#####

When he caught sight of the Carsons entering through the green baize door, Lord Grantham crossed the room to greet them both warmly. "It's so lovely to see you both," he said. "But you should have come in through the front door. You are our guests now, you know."

Mr. Carson looked shocked, almost affronted, at what seemed to him an outlandish suggestion, but Mrs. Carson intervened before her husband had a chance to recover the power of speech. "You're very kind, milord," she said. "But I did wish to speak to Mrs. Crabtree when I arrived, so we entered through the back door." It was not a complete falsehood. She _had_ spoken briefly to the housekeeper when they entered, but that was not the reason they had not come to the front door. When she received Lady Grantham's invitation, Mrs. Carson had absently wondered aloud whether they should use the front door, but Mr. Carson had rejected the idea as nonsense. It was not important to her which entrance they used, so she had made no argument, but Lord Grantham could certainly be spared a recounting of this conversation.

"Checking up on your successor, then," the earl said with a smile.

"She seems to be doing quite well," Mrs. Carson said. "And I did my best to reassure her, but she is rather nervous about dancing with an earl for the first time."

Lord Grantham was amused by this. "I will be gentle with her, then," he said. And I hope I may claim a dance with you as well, Mrs. Carson. You have been displaced as my first partner, but there is no reason we should not dance later in the evening." He looked at Mr. Carson. "That is, if it is agreeable with your husband."

"Of course, milord," Mr. Carson answered. "The honor of the first dance is mine, but I certainly do not object to my wife dancing with any man who asks her."

Mrs. Carson would have rolled her eyes had she not been in Lord Grantham's presence. She did not think she was likely to have any more partners than usual tonight. However, she turned out to be quite wrong. After dancing the first with her husband, Mr. Branson asked her to dance and she was happy to oblige him. A little later the nimble James was her partner, and then Alfred. The latter seemed rather uncomfortable - whether it was dancing with the former Mrs. Hughes or dancing in general that made him so nervous she could not say - so she took pity on him and stopped halfway through the song, claiming she was too thirsty to continue, and asked him to fetch her a drink. She even danced with Dr. Clarkson before Lord Grantham took his turn leading her to the floor. However, Mrs. Carson had to admit being astonished beyond expression when Mr. Barrow approached her and very formally requested the honor of the next dance. She accepted, of course, although her vague suspicion that most of her partners had been somehow compelled or persuaded to dance with her was now all but confirmed in her mind. She was glad at first that Mr. Barrow _had_ asked, for she knew that he was one of the best dancers at Downton, and she had never had the opportunity to be his partner. However, though he moved exquisitely, his conversation was the same as always - smug and vaguely sarcastic. She dodged his intentionally provoking remarks as much as possible - she would not let him ruin her evening - but she was glad when the song ended and she was able to go in search of her husband at last.

"You and Mr. Barrow executed that dance very well, Elsie," Mr. Carson commented, once they had found each other. They stood together on one side of the room, as they had so many times before, and Mrs. Carson could not help but notice that Mr. Barrow and Mrs. Crabtree stood on opposite sides of the room from one another.

"I might have executed _Mr. Barrow_ if that song had lasted any longer," she said drily.

"That bad, eh?"

"I've been free of that man for a year and I've quite gotten used to it. I could barely keep my tone civil."

"I think I know what you mean, Elsie. It's hard to remember how I tolerated him for so many years."

"Downton might have been rid of him for good if not for the timing of that army medical training scheme he managed to arrange," Mrs. Carson said. "Do you remember?"

"I certainly do," Mr. Carson answered with a grimace. "The thought has occurred to me many, many times since then."

"We thought it a great mercy not to have him _or_ the unpleasantness of sacking him on our hands any longer, but now he's butler of Downton Abbey." Mrs. Carson shook her head. "I'm only glad to have left him to Mrs. Crabtree!"

"I believe she gets along tolerably well in spite of Mr. Barrow."

"I should hope so!" Mrs. Carson said wryly. "A great deal of the training I gave her was on the subject of how to manage Mr. Barrow."

Mr. Carson chuckled. "You had your work cut out for you then, I suppose." He looked around the room. "What do you think of the ball, Elsie?"

"I think they have done well," she answered. "I can't say I haven't noticed a few things amiss, or seen details I would have organized differently, but I don't suppose I can fairly be very critical of Mrs. Crabtree's work. I suspect the first Servants' Ball I planned was lacking in some way or other."

"I'm afraid I disagree, Elsie," Mr. Carson countered. "Your planning and execution was flawless from your first event to your last."

"I highly doubt that, but I thank you for the compliment all the same," Mrs. Carson said, smiling up at him. "Now, will you dance with me, Charles?" she asked.

"I think I am supposed to do the asking, Elsie," he said.

"Yes, you are!" she replied tartly. "But since you weren't doing any asking I had to take on the task myself. But perhaps you don't wish to dance." She raised her eyebrows, challenging him with her eyes.

Mr. Carson looked a little embarrassed for a moment, but met her challenge, offering her his hand and a smoldering look. "May I have the next dance, Mrs. Carson?"

She responded only with a cheeky smile, took his hand, and let him lead her to the floor.

#####

They did not stay much longer. Mrs. Carson had some friendly chat with Mrs. Patmore about Daisy's impending move to Mr. Mason's farm and sought out Lily to find out how she was faring. She made sure to at least give a brief greeting to all of her former charges before extricating herself from the crowd and making her leisurely way across the room to where Mr. Carson stood talking to Dr. Clarkson.

"Ah, Mrs. Carson," the doctor said, when she took her husband's arm. "I don't want to keep you, so I'll excuse myself. Good night." And he hurried away.

Mr. Carson's brow furrowed. "He was certainly in a rush to get away from us!"

Mrs. Carson's lips twitched as she tried not to smile. "I believe we were keeping him from Mrs. Crawley," she said calmly.

Mr. Carson turned to watch the retreating doctor's path and after a few moments his eyebrows rose. "It seems you are correct, Elsie. How did you know?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Just a hunch. I think it's been brewing for quite some time, but he seemed rather more keen tonight than I have ever seen him."

Mr. Carson only nodded.

"Shall we go home now, Charles?" Mrs. Carson asked him.

"I was going to suggest that very thing," he agreed.

They bade farewell to their host and hostess and made their way out, through the front door this time, where they were greeted by a frigid breeze. They walked home as fast as they could, staying close together to keep warm against the January chill. When they arrived home, Mr. Carson lit a fire in the parlor and they sat on the sofa, nestled together under a spare blanket.

"I hope you enjoyed yourself this evening, Elsie," he said, kissing the top of her head.

"I did, although I'd like to know who was responsible for my sudden profusion of dance partners." She looked at him pointedly.

"Do you not think it possible that all of those men simply wished to dance with you?" he asked.

"No, I don't," she answered bluntly.

Mr. Carson chuckled. "Well, it wasn't me, and I refuse to concede the impossibility of your being naturally sought after by all of them. If you are right, though, it may have been his lordship, but I can't be sure. He did not mention it to me."

"Well, I suppose that would explain Mr. Barrow's participation," she said laughingly. "I would like to think _you_ wouldn't have taken pains to persuade a man I don't like to dance with me."

"No, I would have steered clear of Mr. Barrow, if I had such a scheme in mind. More likely I would have just danced every dance with you myself, Elsie."

Mrs. Carson laughed. "Well, it costs me nothing to tell you that I would have accepted your hand every single time you offered it. I'm afraid most of the others were rather tiresome."

"Really? I know Mr. Barrow was rather unpleasant, but the others as well?"

"I'm afraid so. His lordship is always a pleasant partner, and Mr. Branson is a dear young man, of course. I suppose James was tolerable since he dances and flirts so well, but poor Alfred looked miserable and Dr. Clarkson was so distracted he barely spoke to me. And of course I needn't say more about Mr. Barrow." She rolled her eyes.

Mr. Carson was highly entertained by this account, and by Mrs. Carson's face as she gave it. "Do you remember the first time we danced, Elsie?" he asked.

"Yes, I do, though it was a long time ago," she answered. "Even then you were a good dance partner, though I barely knew you."

#####

_Elsie looked around the hall in some wonder. As head housemaid, she was far too busy to waste time gawking at her surroundings, but on this occasion she had leisure to appreciate the elegance and charm of this part of the house. She had worked in a great house once before, but though it was very grand it was not beautiful, as Downton Abbey was. She had been at Downton only a month, but she liked it already, not only for the graceful style of the house, but for the way it operated. Mrs. Roberts was well-organized and strict, but not unkind, which created an atmosphere in which Elsie thrived. She knew what was expected of her and was treated fairly by her superiors downstairs, and though she had interacted with them but little thus far, the family seemed tolerably well-disposed toward their staff. Additionally, the one man among them was the earl, who was obviously quite devoted to his wife and daughters, so the only men whose advances she might have to discourage would be the ones downstairs. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Roberts were both sharp-eyed and did not tolerate any sort of fraternization among their staff, so Elsie felt quite safe, much safer than she had felt in most of the other houses she had worked in._

_Her eyes were caught by the intricate designs on the ceiling of the hall when a deep voice intruded on her thoughts. "It's quite a lovely house, isn't it?" The butler had appeared at her side without her having heard his approach._

"_Yes, Mr. Carson," Elsie answered. "This is the first time I've been able to have a proper look at this room."_

"_Are you settling in well, Elsie?" he asked politely._

"_Quite well, Mr. Carson," she said. "Mrs. Roberts has been very kind."_

_Mr. Carson didn't speak any further, but he remained at her side, surveying the room and its occupants. He and Mrs. Roberts exchanged a nod and a smile across the room; both were clearly pleased with how the evening was progressing. Elsie wasn't sure if the conversation had ended or not, so she waited for a few moments to see if Mr. Carson would say anything else to her. He didn't make her nervous, precisely, but she would prefer listening to the other maids gossip over standing in silence with the butler. She was about to turn and walk away when Mr. Carson surprised her by asking her to dance. Elsie never turned down a dance unless the man asking was particularly distasteful, which Mr. Carson certainly was not, so she accepted the invitation and he led her to the floor. She barely knew him, but she did think him rather handsome, though she sometimes wondered if he ever smiled._

_They danced for a minute or two in silence, and Elsie was surprised to see some evidence that Mr. Carson did, indeed, smile. It was barely there, and she wondered what he was thinking about._

"_Your dancing is excellent, Elsie," he said, letting a real smile peek out._

"_Thank you, Mr. Carson," she said, smiling back. "I do love to dance."_

_He nodded and they fell silent again. Elsie was not someone who had to fill every silence with mindless chatter, but she was beginning to feel uncomfortable. "I suppose we should speak to one another, Mr. Carson."_

"_Yes, we probably should," he answered ruefully. "It would look rather strange to the others if we did not, wouldn't it?"_

"_But what is there to talk about?" Elsie wondered aloud. "The state of the linens or whether all of the silver is polished?"_

"_What about books?" he suggested. "I have seen you reading occasionally. What do you read?"_

"_No, I cannot talk of books in a ballroom," she answered without thinking. "My head is always full of something else."_

"_The present always occupies you in such scenes, then?" he responded._

_Elsie looked up in surprise. "You've read it, then?" she asked._

"_I have," he answered, enjoying the look on her face. "You left it in the servants' hall yesterday with your page marked and I picked it up and read a bit. It's been years since I last read _Pride & Prejudice_, but it's a favorite of mine."_

_Elsie still looked incredulous. "You amaze me, Mr. Carson."_

"_What do you mean?" He was becoming perplexed by her continued disbelief._

"_I'm sorry, Mr. Carson. I didn't mean to be impertinent."_

"_It's all right, Elsie," he said in a calm voice. "You're not impertinent. But do tell me what you find so amazing."_

_She searched for the right words. "Only that I would have thought that a serious-minded man like you might consider _Pride & Prejudice _very frivolous." Elsie looked up to see how Mr. Carson reacted._

"_Frivolous?" he scoffed lightly. "I cannot think of many writers who understand human nature as well as Austen."_

_Elsie smiled. "Well, it is one of my favorites as well," she told him. "If I stay at Downton for any length of time, I'm afraid I might have to purchase a new copy of it for his lordship's library. I am very careful, but just from being read so frequently, the book I borrowed may soon be a little too shabby for the fine library here."_

"_Perhaps you ought to buy your own copy of it_, _since it's such a favorite of yours," Mr. Carson suggested._

_Elsie grimaced slightly. "I may do that," she said. "But I spent most of what I had to come to Downton and have not had the time to save anything else, so I've precious little money to spare on books."_

"_Well, someday soon, then," he said, nodding firmly. "But do not worry about wearing out his lordship's book. If at some time you think it has gotten too worn, just tell me, and I will take care of it with his lordship. You needn't trouble yourself with replacing it."_

"_Thank you, Mr. Carson," she answered. "You're very kind."_

"_It seems you were wrong, Elsie."_

_She was puzzled. "Wrong about what?" she asked._

"_It seems you _can _talk of books in a ballroom," he said, his eyes twinkling._

_Elsie smiled. She had found a new friend._

#####

"Isn't there something in _Pride & Prejudice_ about dancing and falling in love?" Mr. Carson asked.

"Yes," Mrs. Carson answered. "It's in the bit about Mr. Bingley and how he loves to dance, which some of the characters consider a certain step toward falling in love. I'm afraid you don't much resemble Mr. Bingley, though, Charles."

He laughed. "No, I don't think I do."

"But did you love me then? Or did you start to love me then?"

Mr. Carson shook his head. "I don't think it was that early," he said. "Not that you weren't lovely, of course, but at first we were simply friends."

"When was it, then?" she persisted.

"I'm not sure, Elsie. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun."

Mrs. Carson laughed and poked him gently in the ribs. "I thought you might say that, Mr. Darcy."

"And what about you? Can _you_ tell me the exact moment?" he challenged her.

"I suppose not," she admitted. "I can think of moments when I know I loved you and moments when I know I did not, but there is a great gap in between those moments and I could not tell you exactly when the madness began."

"Madness! My goodness, Elsie, is that how you consider it?"

"Certainly, Charles," she affirmed. "Absolute madness, exquisite, yet almost unbearable at times."

"Unbearable because you were in love alone?" he said, a little sadly.

"Yes," Mrs. Carson answered softly. "Anyway, that's what I thought."

"But you were not in love alone."

"No. And more importantly, I am not alone _now_."

"Certainly not," Mr. Carson said resolutely, pulling her close to his chest. "You're stuck with me, Mrs. Carson."

Mrs. Carson smiled and kissed his lips. She started to pull back, but he drew her close and kissed her more deeply. Finally, she turned her head to catch her breath. "I think you had better take me to bed, Charles," she managed to whisper.

Mr. Carson was quick to obey this command. He swiftly banked the fire and then took her hand and led her upstairs.

#####

A few days later Mr. and Mrs. Carson celebrated the first anniversary of their wedding. There were no guests, there was no food, and there were no gifts. They celebrated by waltzing in the parlor, taking turns singing or humming a tune. Mr. Carson confessed to a great many preposterous sins that he had certainly not committed, and his wife laughed heartily at this comical version of the confession he claimed was always brought on by waltzing with her. For years to come they celebrated their wedding anniversary in the same way, but dancing in the parlor was not limited to special occasions. Within a month of their first anniversary, they had established a routine of dancing every evening before going to bed. Dancing also broke out spontaneously in other rooms of their little cottage at various times of day. Mr. Carson occasionally pulled his wife away from boiling a kettle or tinkering with her toaster to whirl her around the kitchen a few times. They even found a book that taught them the steps to a few new dances when Mrs. Carson declared that she needed more variety. Some of the newer steps Mr. Carson refused to attempt, but there was still a great deal of fun to be had with the rest, as well as with some of the dances they both remembered from their youth.

The waltz, however, would always be especially meaningful to them both, because they cherished the memories of those two evenings when they had performed it alone in Mr. Carson's pantry at Downton Abbey. The first was a dance of hidden longing and the second was one of revealed longing. Even now that that longing was fulfilled, these moments were well worth remembering. Mr. and Mrs. Carson may not have needed to dance together to fall in love, but dancing had led them, after some twists and turns, to this very happy ending.

_The End._

**A/N: I've lifted a number of lines in this chapter from Jane Austen's _Pride & Prejudice_.**

**Thank you for reading, and for your reviews and support.**


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